A LITTLE ADVICE FOR ASPIRING FIRES || Self Defense Class

[fulzanin]

WE'LL MAKE A WAY WHERE YOU CAN FIND YOUR PLACE
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Despite her guardsman status, Feza didn't know a whole lot. Sure, she was known for her absurd little parties and flamboyant colors, her kazoo noises and her love for noise. Battling? Sparring? All of those attempts had been met with complete and utter disaster. She was tossed around with little effort due to her small size and lightweight body. It was not helped by the fact that Feza knew next to nothing about combat. She knew how to unsheathe her claws and whack at people. All of the festive female's skills with her claws were for absurd things. Unscrewing lids, tying things up, cutting tape. None of those talents would help in the heat of combat. For a while, she'd even had her claws covered in glitter glue. It had been uncomfortable while her claws had been sheathed, but Feza would had claimed it to have made her extremely festive at all times. If it wasn't festive, well, she was certainly doing something wrong. Her outburst over Aurum and her nightmares had forced a smidgen of reality into her festive world. She'd finally gotten rid of the glitter glue and had somewhat sharpened her claws to a state that wasn't absurdly laughable.

As much as the snow leopard liked to convey being the eternal ray of sunshine, parties, festivity, and joy, there were somethings that happened to break through. Being scared of dying was one of those realities that she was able to comprehend. Nightmares had forced her to break down, scream and cry and make assumptions about things that weren't true. Delusional by exhaustion had led her to outrageous claims and faulty logic that, at the time, had seemed entirely faultless to the guardsman. She didn't want to die. Knowing self defense would help that. "Um. I, I uh, I think I'll partake. I'd like to, I'd like to know how to, to defend myself, yea." Feza commented when she got closer. She was small, even by snow leopard standards - absolutely dwarfed. She hoped it wasn't a spar. She really didn't want a repeat of being bested so swiftly. Especially the fake killing blow, the touch. If she could just sit, listen, and get her mind to stop derailing for a few minutes? The guardsman would consider that a win.

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THE EMPTY CHAIRS WILL BE RESERVED FOR OUR PITY